


And If the Sun Won't Rise

by forollkin



Category: Curse of Strahd - Fandom, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Strahd is Strahd, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Vampiric Charm, What else need I say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25436431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forollkin/pseuds/forollkin
Summary: The story of how Escher lost his humanity.
Relationships: Escher (Curse of Strahd)/Strahd von Zarovich, Strahd von Zarovich and Escher
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	And If the Sun Won't Rise

**Author's Note:**

> This was my entry for the /r/CurseofStrahd fanfiction competition, which ended up winning 1st place. I am greatly honored that people liked it enough to rate it so highly! I did some light editing to it based on feedback but am otherwise plopping it here unchanged. Sorry for any formatting issues, this is the first time I've actually posted to AO3 despite being a long-time user. For flavor and because I'm one of those people, this story assumes that Strahd does not have the Forbiddance feature.

~

It first came to Escher beneath the cold veil of night, that presence. Steady and powerful but unseen, like a pair of heavy hidden eyes watching him from all around as he practiced his violin. The feeling of being watched was not unfamiliar to him; he liked it when people attended his performances in town, after all. But this was different, inscrutable in an alien way. Not unfriendly, but impossible to nudge out of his mind as he tried to play through his waltz. 

_Focus._

His finger slipped. He fumbled one note.

_Focus!_

And another note. He drew his violin down and glanced around the room. All was silent, yet still the feeling bore down on him. Invasive, almost tantalizing if not for the alarm bells it set off. 

“Hello?”

Not a single shadow stirred. A few seconds passed, and the presence melted away. 

Escher did not play any more that night. 

~

The next time he felt it was almost a moon later. Once again, it came at night. Escher was practicing, always practicing-- if there was anyone in the Valley who believed in his craft, it was himself. Damn the ones who doubted its value. 

Their lingering criticisms had colored his mood. His tune that evening was mournful, had been mournful for hours. It was the adagio segment of a piece he’d penned some time not so long ago. The notes were heavy and dripping viscous but smooth, cutting through the cold air of his room in steadfast paces. He’d veered off script, he knew it, but playing from the heart had value when one was ready to suffocate.

So absorbed in his playing was he that the return of the watcher hardly ruffled him. He wasn’t even of the mind to be embarrassed by his tears. He simply played and played and played until his arms were shaking and he could hardly fathom what was coming out of his instrument any more, old thing that it was. And as he continued he could feel it, a fluttering, a tug both from within and from beyond. Not the presence, but something he’d been chasing after for years.

He knew of those talented few who, with the passion of their music, produced magic. He stood often before that door within himself, desperate to unlock it but lacking the final key. The sensation, a teasing toward a goal he’d fostered for so long, only escalated the intensity of his song.

 _Do I need to play louder?_ Escher drew his bow down harsh over the strings. _Faster?_

Only when the darkness of night began to slip away did Escher’s playing grind to a halt. Another sleepless evening, consumed by his music. Thank the divine he’d moved to the other side of town, or father would have surely strung him from the rafters by now. His eyes drifted to the sheathed sword gathering dust in the corner. It was his only audience member aside from the watcher, which hadn’t yet melted away to its crypt despite the break in Escher’s playing. 

Escher sighed. “I hope you enjoyed that mess,” he said, to Nothing. 

Not a shadow shifted. Not a breeze brushed by. Yet Escher knew--hoped--he wasn’t insane. And if he was, if it was all but a sad projection of the brain, at least it fanned the spark of his music. It was the same spark that had pushed him away from a life of practical work. Vallaki needed defending and he was an able-bodied man, his father had served, it’d been the natural path. Yet wielding a sword had never come to him in the same way playing his songs had, and a pitiful feeling curled in Escher’s gut at the idea of facing down beasts and monsters and whatever else that lurked. 

Death was too close a risk in those situations, and Escher did not want to die. He did not want to dance that dance. It’d been unfathomable to father-- _coward_ , he’d said so many times in that gruff voice of his, and maybe he was right. But Escher could live with being a coward, so long as he was living.

Gently, he set down his violin. Laid down and curled beneath his covers to stare out the window ahead and pretend to try to sleep. The presence went away then, at last. 

~

“You could play my wedding, Escher,” Elena said, prattering on as they strolled through town square. Escher hadn’t seen her in over a moon. It was hard to arrange for meetings between him and the golden child. Still, he loved her.

“As if,” he said, snorting. “Father would not be pleased.” As always, the sky was obscured by a heavy veil of clouds. There was a chill to the air, a residual reminder of winter’s touch. 

Elena rolled her eyes. “Curse what that grouch thinks. My wedding is for me, and I want you there.”

“Remind me, who is paying for it again?” 

Escher could play this game for days. He wanted to be there for her, he’d even written songs for it, but any appearance by him would stir a pot he’d already stirred far too many times. Time and time again it’d been proven that Escher’s presence at family events could only inspire unpleasantries. Especially now. Elena fell into sullen silence, because she knew he was right. 

Escher nudged her. “I will plan a private concert for you, with only the finest of songs.”

“Truly?” 

“Oh but of course. Anything for you.” 

Although Escher’s tone was sarcastic, he knew in his heart it was true. Elena was to be wed in three moons time to some Wachter. Escher really didn’t care much about it outside his concern for his sister’s well-being. She was young still, only eighteen, groomed into a life of duty much like him. Only unlike him, she took to it. It was hard to understand.

“Perfect,” she said, beaming. 

Her smile tugged at his heartstrings and he paused a moment, standing there on the street. Did she smile only because she was meant to, or did she mean it? Sometimes it was hard to know. But the light in her eyes was telling enough. 

“You’re happy, Elena?” 

She shrugged her shawl tighter around herself; it was wool, embroidered, no doubt something grandmother had made. 

“I am,” she said. “I promise. And if someday I am not, I know who I can turn to.”

Escher let her tug him along. “Good.”

The rest of the stroll toward his apartment was pleasant enough, full of idle chatter about the intricacies of wedding planning. Elena could be rather single-minded--it ran in the family, so Escher understood and didn’t bother much with trying to divert her. He was surprised, though, when she interrupted herself to run ahead.

“Oh, Escher, look!” 

He raised one brow as she darted toward his doorstep, and the other brow went up when he noticed the package. A large light blue box was sat neatly on the step, tied at the top with a white silk ribbon. Elena peered at it, skirts flaring out as she bent over. 

How strange, Escher thought. Strange indeed. He hadn’t been expecting any package, and it wasn’t typical that anyone cared enough to send him gifts. There was only one he could think of--an old flame, Vasili, who’d vanished to gods know where--and Escher strongly doubted it was from him.

“Must be my order from the tailor,” he said. The lie was easy enough. He didn’t want to deal too extensively with Elena’s curiosity on the matter, not when he himself didn’t know what the box contained. 

Elena smiled, accepted it. “Another coat, Escher? But you already have so many.” 

“Never enough, El,” he said, opening his arms for a farewell hug. She fit against him easily; he pat her back and cherished the warmth against him in the cold afternoon air. “You’re off to dinner with the Wachters?”

She nodded against his chest. “Yes. Do pray that I avoid offending them.”

Escher chuckled. “If you do, just smile and act oblivious.”

Once Elena had departed, Escher scooped up the box and hurried up to his apartment. Slid it onto his desk, stared at it a moment. Narrowed his eyes. The packaging was made of a soft velveteen, no doubt of high quality. Even the ribbon, pressed and tied all neat, was embroidered. 

He expected maybe an outfit, some weird trifle an admirer might send. The violin came as a complete surprise. It was made of light wood, polished to a shine and carved with scrollwork. In a word, beautiful. Expensive. He ghosted his fingertips over it, drew them away just as quick. Instead, he picked up the small card in the corner, flicked it open.

The message was simple, half a line written in formal penmanship:

_A true instrument for a true musician._

No name, no explanation. Just a compliment and a gift that seemed worth more than all of Escher’s belongings combined. He didn’t know what to make of it. He even pulled out one of the letters Vasili had written to him to compare the writing; it was not the same. 

The violin stayed on his desk, untouched. 

~

A few nights later was when he played the first note on the violin. It’d taunted him during that period, beautiful and pristine on the desk, longing to be played. After giving himself time for his reservations to settle, to wait and see if somebody was going to show up at his door and demand their instrument back, Escher gave in.

And that single first note he played quickly became a song, for he had never heard a violin with quite so lovely a tone before. He didn’t even have to fiddle with the tuning for the sound that came out to be near perfect. Melodious without effort, as if it was meant to be played by him. What miracle was that? He’d been working on a waltz for Elena and as he went through his progress on the new violin, it sounded warm, purposeful. Just as he had intended.

His heart soared. Then, it settled when he felt that presence creep back in around him, heavy and obvious. Watching. Like a shadow but not as tangible, or perhaps more tangible. Alive in a way that the darkness clustered around him could not be.

A strange, sudden thought came to Escher. He drew his bow down, considering it. 

“Did you send this to me?” 

Addressing a nightly presence in his chamber which very well might have been imagined was not one of Escher’s most distinguished moments. No, not at all, but it scant mattered. As always, the room was still and silent save for the whirling wind outdoors against his shutters. Escher sighed, admonishing himself. Stupid. Why would it ever be something more?

“Perhaps I did.”

A man’s voice, soft and deep and flowing out from the shadows. Escher almost dropped the violin in his surprise, yelping back. He stared disbelieving into the darkness nestled in the corners of his room. No form, no person was obvious. So what--

“No reason to fear,” the voice said. 

Escher was silent for a moment, thoughts racing through his mind. Barovia was a land with many a strange creature skulking about, everyone knew that, even Escher who’d always lived within the tall walls of Vallaki. Nighttime--the dark--was more dangerous, but the fortified township had always made him feel removed from the worst of it.

Now, standing in the dark listening to a creature speak to him, Escher felt foolish. And even more so for being interested.

“You’re the one who has been watching me?” Escher hardly sounded confident, his question tainted by a hesitant fear that made him want to scowl.

“Indeed,” the voice said. “You play beautifully.” 

The compliment made Escher bristle. “Who are you?” 

He did his best not to sound accusatory. Whatever spoke to him now, it was not human, no matter how human it sounded. Then again, he’d known that moons ago when the presence first appeared, hadn’t he? He’d known that something was haunting him and yet he hadn’t scurried over to St. Andral’s for help like a reasonable man would. No wards, no sigils of protection were laid out for him now as he stood alone in the presence of the watcher. A certain side of himself embraced the mystery and the danger, longed for it. Another, the one that shied away from guard duty, cried out and wanted to run. 

There was a soft chuckle from the shadows. “I think you would be more afraid if I told you.”

“Perhaps,” Escher said. His mind wandered to ghouls, ghasts, demons, vampires. The very lord of the land over at Ravenloft on high was a vampire, or so it was said. Surely there were others. “If you will not tell me, will you at least say what you want?”

“A show, Escher,” the voice said, sounding fond but detached in the same breath. It knew his name. Of course it did. “Play for me.”

Play for me. A command given in the voice of one who was used to giving them, goading but formal in the same breath.

Escher stood still. Considered his options. He’d already played for the watcher several times. Now that it had a voice, would he shy away? Somehow, deep in his mind, he knew that it wasn’t an option. Whether it was a fantasy of the brain that’d burgeoned out of hand or a silver-tongued devil come to steal his soul away, Escher felt compelled to listen to the presence in the shadows. So he nodded without a word, drew the violin back up to his chin. Ignored a slight tremor in his hands as he started to play.

Not a mournful piece this time, but a rich one. Something Escher could imagine played at a lush soiree, although he’d never had the opportunity to perform at one. He’d penned it for when the day came that he was invited to, had held onto the hope in his heart ever since while his score collected dust on a shelf. As the song swept into a higher register, Escher could feel it. That same feeling he always felt, a tickling, except it was closer and stronger than it had ever been before. It was that connection with the arcane he’d been craving, lingering beyond a threshold within himself. If he reached just a little further, he could seize it, he could make magic--

He fumbled a note. Sighed audibly in frustration. Shadows shifted in the corner and Escher could see, for barely a moment, a silhouette. Tall, broad-shouldered. Escher blinked.

“You have to focus,” the voice said as the silhouette faded once more into the blackness. “Your song is strong enough. Focus on it and only it, and the instrument will be your conduit.”

“Very well,” Escher said, surprised to be given advice by his phantom. Whatever it was, it certainly was no guardian angel. Unless they crept around in the dark of night and had a coldness to them. Then, maybe.

When Escher started to play again, the same feeling from before was waiting. This time, however, he paid it less mind. Kept his head in the music, let it fold out into the world in graceful, smooth notes. His eyes fell shut and he could imagine within the landscape of his mind the simple wooden walls of his room transforming into those of a grand party room, people dancing and chattering with the background of his music in their ears. There was a golden, candled chandelier overhead, casting him in soft orange-yellows as he played. And then, just as the piece started to hit its crescendo, a faint violet glow encroached from all around. Dancing figures were consumed by it, that light, and the fanciful scene was broken. Escher opened his eyes.

It was the violin. Fuzzy purple light flowed forth, encompassing it as he played, and like a lock turning in a key he could feel in his heart that he’d made the link. The sheer elation of it made him forget his fear of the watcher as he swooped happily into the finishing stretch of the piece. 

Escher ended with a flare, a smile strong on his face. As his playing stopped, the violet glow faded. Yet in the dying light that it cast, Escher could see him again for a moment. That man in the shadows, watching him. Not hideous, far from it, but white-faced in a manner that was not typical of any person Escher had met. Dark hair, dark eyes that looked empty what with the shadows pressed over the sockets. As the magic faded from Escher’s view, so did the hint of the man.

“Well done,” he said simply. 

His voice reverberated. The hairs on the back of Escher’s neck stood up and a prickle danced down his spine. There was a warmth in his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. The presence melted away. Escher knew then that he was alone again in the dark, surrounded by his thoughts and alight with the new magic he’d been pushed toward.

~

Escher started to wait for him, the phantom. He didn’t come the next day or the next, so Escher spent time practicing. He wanted to be able to draw forth that light without running off to imaginary places in his mind. It was difficult, really difficult, especially when Escher lacked the understanding of why he was able to foster the magic in the first place. That didn’t slow him down, however. On the third day, he worked himself to the point where a single note could summon the light. Not as vibrant or as plentiful as the first time, but at least it was present. 

He found his mind wandering often to his watcher. The dark, deep voice, the silhouette he’d seen cradled in shadow. It was frightening to have the attention of something which seemed so powerful, yet Escher craved it at the same time. He’d shunned a life of guard duty because death scared him, that’s the excuse he’d always used, but now he was realizing that perhaps it was the monotony of the job which had always scared him more. Put on a uniform. Kill things. Yell at the citizenry. Do as you’re told. How boring was that?

Meanwhile, his music by its very nature shielded him from monotony. Notes on paper became sound in the air, stories with no words to get him through the day. Now that they’d attracted a strange nightly visitor, his phantom, Escher was less scared than he’d expected himself to be. For better or for worse. In any case, he waited. 

And that night as he laid down for bed, body tired but mind awake, he felt the phantom return. The cold alerted him first, a chill breeze creeping through his room despite all the windows being closed. Tonight was different, however; footsteps accompanied the feeling. Escher kept his eyes closed as the watcher came to the foot of his bed, stopped. 

“You’re awake,” the visitor said. 

“Yes,” Escher said, still not daring to open his eyes. If he did, he knew he’d see the full truth, even though a curling anticipation in his gut already spoke to him of certain possibilities. It intimidated him, to know for sure. 

“Still afraid?” He sounded goading, but his voice stayed soft. 

Escher hesitated. Blinked his eyes open and waited for them to adjust. This time seeing the watcher, Escher could make out his features much more clearly. Still with that strange, pale face, but this time it was distantly recognizable. Not because Escher had ever known this man personally, but because most anyone living in the valley of Barovia had seen likenesses. 

It was no phantom who haunted him. Not a ghoul that prowled in his home, or a wraith, or even a fond lingering spirit. This was a vampire, the vampire. Escher froze.

The only word he managed to get out was a soft “why?”

“I was present one day when you performed,” said Strahd von Zarovich. “You caught my eye.” 

Escher thought back to all the times he’d performed. Never had he seen Strahd there, of course not. Why would he have? Strahd hadn’t come to Vallaki in a long while. The last time was over ten years ago, some affair related to taxes and the burgomaster. 

“You remember Vasili, don’t you?”

Escher blanched. He did remember Vasili, handsome creature that he was. The year previous he’d spent many hours, days together with him being flirted with and flirting in turn. Shirking his duty to spend time with him, pissing his father off. It was a lovely tryst up until Vasili had vanished one day and never returned. 

He watched, silent and thinking, as Strahd murmured beneath his breath. The feeling of magic filled the room and then it was not the Devil before him any longer but Vasili von Holtz, the very same one who’d courted him in secret. 

Oh, Escher thought. Oh.

“I’ve never meant you harm, Escher,” Strahd said in his own tone, even though he had Vasili’s face.”That has not changed.” 

Escher couldn’t help the flush that came to his cheeks, hot and embarrassed. Vasili’s disappearance made a lot more sense now, but the deception of it all was violating in a sharp, painful way and as the dread lord of Ravenloft came around to kneel at his bedside, Escher wanted nothing more than to curl away into a ball. Instead, he steeled himself.

“I don’t know what I should say,” Escher said. “Lord Strahd.” It was attached as an afterthought. He was in his bed wearing pyjamas, he might as well have been a dog rolled over with its belly out. Vulnerable, all too vulnerable. There had always been stories of how Strahd took consorts to the palace. Never did any of them mention the consorts coming back. 

“You needn’t say a word if you do not wish to,” Strahd said as he ended his spell. It was a relief in a way to see Vasili gone, ghost that he was. 

Escher took a breath. He’d never learned how to hold his tongue. “I would like to know what you want.” 

Escher had an idea. He wanted to hear it said, though. 

Strahd paused, his expression entirely inscrutable. 

“Understand, mortality does not touch me. Years turn into decades and decades into centuries. Can you fathom the boredom, Escher? It is a painful weight around my neck. I look for ways to alleviate the ache, as any creature would.” 

Strahd ran a hand idly over the bed to Escher’s side, close enough to caress Escher if he pleased. 

“After hundreds of years, I’ve realized that the most apt balm is the companionship of exceptional people--” Strahd said, and his eyes moved over Escher as he did. “--And yet I find that they are rare in this land.”

Escher met Strahd’s gaze and felt, suddenly, a wave of warmth wash over him. Like a glamor falling over his mind, soothing him and enticing him and breaking him open. With it came a haziness but he was still aware of himself, who he was, the situation at hand. He just couldn’t quite salvage his grip on fear, on the hesitance that protected him. 

“Better?” Strahd asked, and Escher nodded without thinking. “You’ve an enticing gift, Escher. This sad town does not deserve it.”

Escher, feeling drunk, leaned into the touch when Strahd’s hand ghosted over his cheek. It made him think of Vasili, that man wrapped in rose-colored memories. The reveal hadn’t settled in Escher’s heart yet. 

“I can offer you many things,” Strahd continued, tucking a strand of hair behind Escher’s ear. He pulled away after that and a part of Escher’s hazy mind lamented the loss. “Instruction in magic. An audience.” 

Strahd was telling him to make a decision. Just in more words. It sounded nice, it did. Strahd’s eyes flashing in the dark seemed nice now, too, rather than frightening. Escher stared up at him through his eyelashes. Shifted sluggishly, then ceased to move. His head really did feel strange; he wanted some water. Water helped most of the time. 

_Where do those men and women end up, Escher?_

One rational thought before the haze piled in again. 

_What about Elena, Escher?_

Another.

“Time,” he said. “Need some time.” It was hard to string the words together. Strahd would understand, surely. His heart pegged him as reasonable. 

“Of course,” Strahd said. Escher knew he’d get it. He smiled a little at being proven right. “Consider it. I will return for your answer in three days.”

Yet as Strahd stood back up, threatened to creep away into the night, the warmth hazing Escher’s brain cinched around it like chains. Escher didn’t want him to leave empty-handed, he couldn’t, no. His hand went instinctively to his throat.

“Wait. Do you want…,” Escher trailed off. 

Strahd stopped. His subtle smile meant he understood. 

Escher dreamt that night of a strange stasis, being crowded in close to someone cold to the core, fangs in his throat sucking him away. 

~

Two days later, Escher wrapped a scarf around his neck before heading out toward St. Andral’s. The fang marks, evidence of a hazy rendez-vous, hadn’t yet faded. At this point in his state of sleep deprivation, he didn’t care. He had never been a particularly devout man beyond what convention called for--another sore point between him and his father--yet now as he sought clarity it was the only sanctuary he could think of. 

The day was chill enough that a scarf wouldn’t raise any brows. At least, that’s what Escher hoped. He felt dour and unsure walking the streets of his home. Like a part of himself had changed on a fundamental level and was lost now, taken away. The heavy wooden doors of the church didn’t make him feel any better as he pushed on them. For a moment, he feared he wouldn’t be let through. That some holy barrier would stop him. It wasn’t true, though.

The place was as he remembered. Grand, spacious, carved white stone doming overhead rows and rows of wooden pews. Stained glass windows depicting the legends of Andral and Markovia and all the others, glittering in what light they could salvage. At the front, a large statue with open arms greeted any and all visitors. 

Escher found a seat in the back, far from anyone else. He didn’t want to chat with a priest or listen to someone else’s cries. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts in this space where he had always felt both untouchable and pried open. His throat ached, but he could tune it out. 

_He is giving you a choice._

Escher’s thoughts drifted toward Strahd. He was a vampire, immortal, magical. He had endless power. He could take whatever he wanted at any time; Escher had felt a fraction of that the other night, when that haziness had held his mind captive. 

He thought then of Vasili. The lost lover of his who his heart still had not forgotten, even though he had never been real. Were they two sides of the same coin? The kindness shown by Vasili must live in Strahd somewhere. Escher wanted to believe that, even though it felt off. Off because you didn’t hear nice things about Strahd, no. He was the vampire, he was cruel and cold and full of thorns and--he was Vasili, and he’d noticed Escher. 

_Is there really a choice, or just an illusion of one?_

Escher didn’t know what Strahd would say if he was told no. But really, would Escher ever have said no? The future before him now was bleak: stay in Vallaki, play music nobody cares about, be kept away from Elena, wither away in a world he wasn’t meant for. 

Ravenloft, the mysterious, dark pillar that it was in his mind, felt more appealing if only because it was so undefined. 

_The consorts don’t come back, Escher._

For a moment, his mind filled with pretty skeletons. Though if Strahd plucked unhappy souls from the Valley to be his consorts, why would they have a mind to return to their monotonous lives? There were less morbid possibilities, as far as their fates went. 

In any case, Strahd had given him the violin. Had shown him how to make that connection with the arcane, and had now gone as far as to offer him further instruction. Escher wanted it, wanted it desperately. On a golden platter before him was the opportunity to become more than the disgraced son, more than the failure. He could escape those shadows. Rise above them. 

“Is everything well?” 

Escher glanced up. A man of the cloth met his gaze. Maxim was the name, Escher believed. It hardly mattered.

_If you confide, maybe the Church can help._

The more afraid side of Escher, the one who wrestled with the thought of vampires and their dark castles, chewed on that thought. But no, no, it wasn’t possible. The Vallakoviches would get word. Escher’s situation undermined everything they preached about Vallaki. He’d be treated as a criminal, more of a disgrace than he already was. 

“Yes,” Escher said. “Just thinking. Thank you.”

He returned home after a couple hours to find a letter pushed through the slit in his door. It was pressed with his family seal. Escher poured himself a glass of wine, chugged it, and then poured another before opening it gently. 

_Escher,_

_We know that you and Elena have been sending letters. We know that you have coerced her into seeing you. You made the choice to embrace failure and disgrace rather than be a part of this family. You do not have the right, however, to inflict your lifestyle on your sister; therefore, I firmly suggest that you cease all contact unless you are interested in causing problems. As the oldest son, you have already brought such painful shame upon us. If you have any kindness in your heart, you will leave our other children untouched._

_Thank you,  
Katrina and Dimov Lange, your parents_

~

The night next, Escher sat silent on his bed. There was a trunk beside him. He’d tucked a few outfits into it, some of his soaps and perfumes. His composition books, of course. An extra pair of shoes. His violin was in its case on his back. A letter, marked Elena, was placed on his pillow.

“I can see that you’ve made a choice,” said Strahd. Escher hadn’t felt him come in, but he knew to expect him.

Escher stayed facing forward. “Yes.” 

“Good,” said Strahd.

The night was otherwise silent as Escher left his life behind.

~

Playing in Castle Ravenloft was an indescribable feeling. Difficult because Escher was desperate to impress, darkly enchanting because he’d never imagined himself playing for a ruler in their palace before, even if the palace was ominous and strange like labyrinth and its ruler a vampire. He’d been there for only three days and he didn’t feel at home, no, because none of it felt like a home, but he didn’t feel out of place either. 

Strahd was watchful and attentive when he called for Escher. It reminded him of Vasili. The pure weight of his attention was enough to leave Escher flustered sometimes, for the power of Strahd’s gaze made it seem like the world was watching rather than only one being. When praise came, Escher felt it settle deep in himself. Felt his heart alight and aflutter. 

The music came easy. It seemed more important now, more purposeful than playing to walls and dust and shadows. Subtle glowing came to his violin without him even willing it. 

They were together in a study of sorts, the two of them. It was a wooden room whose walls were flanked by full bookshelves, beneath which stretched a crimson carpeted floor. An ornate couch and two chairs formed a demi-square around the fireplace. A portrait of a beautiful young woman with red hair looked out over the room from above it. 

Strahd was sitting in one of the chairs. Escher stood before him, absorbed in his piece. He could feel the heat of the fireplace on him, a stark contrast to the cold air of Ravenloft. As he swept into the finish, Strahd stood, walking over to the bookshelf.

Escher lowered his violin. Strahd returned with a tome. 

“I promised you would learn,” Strahd said. “Your song is strong, but a little reading is necessary.”

Escher accepted the book, which was bound in supple black leather. There was no title. 

“Focus on the opening chapter. The simplest of spells should pose no issue for your talent. It is just a matter of understanding.” 

Escher couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Lord Strahd.”

Strahd said nothing, instead gesturing for Escher to join him on the chair. Escher knew it’d been coming, hadn’t worn a tight collar for this very reason. Of course, he obliged. It wasn’t so bad, especially when the charm wasn’t laid over him. And he craved the closeness, the specialness it made him feel, even if Strahd was much colder and more distant than Vasili had ever been.

As fangs grazed his throat, he wondered, vaguely, if it would always be like this.

~

Almost a moon later, after a stretch of four boring days without seeing Strahd, a woman arrived at Escher’s door. He’d been afforded a decently spacious chamber in one of the towers of Ravenloft. Isolated, perfect for study and practice. It was where he spent all of his time unless Rahadin came to escort him to Strahd’s study when he was wanted. Plenty of open time where he could let himself be sad about Elena when the feeling crept in, or write music, or practice spells. 

He’d learned quickly that asking to leave was impossible. The mere idea of it made Escher nervous. A part of him had thought that maybe, just maybe he’d be able to sneak back to Vallaki and meet with Elena now and then. He was wrong. The expectation of staying put was firm upon him and although he was doing many things he never thought he would do, he couldn’t help but distantly feel that he’d broken out of one cage and walked right into another. 

But here, when he had Strahd’s eyes on him, it didn’t matter. Just like Vasili, he seemed to enjoy Escher’s song. More than that, he seemed to enjoy Escher. And how interesting was it to have the attention of a man who was not a man, who’d lived for centuries and who had certainly known many musicians. It made Escher hope, dream there was something more. 

He conjured those dreams into new songs. There was one he’d started for Vasili last year that had lost its way when Vasili vanished, but now Escher had finished it. Practicing it for hours to perfect for Strahd, whose praise he sought and cherished. 

The woman knocking at his door interrupted him. She was a change from the routine, as she was not Rahadin. She was lovely with her coiffed platinum hair pinned with gemstones and high-collared red gown and she gave him a big smile as he stared at her. Fangs, Escher noticed.

“Hello,” she said. “Anastrasya, pleasure to make your acquaintance. Rahadin is busy.” 

“I see,” Escher said. “Pleasure. My name is Escher.” 

“I know,” Anastrasya said in that chirpy voice of hers. “How nice it is to finally meet you. You play beautiful music.”

Escher smiled. “Thank you. I can only hope.”

“Don’t be coy,” she said. Her gaze never faltered, just like her smile. “I used to put on a lot of events, and no violinist I knew could play like you.”

“You’re very kind,” Escher said, fiddling with his violin. “That was a piece I just finished recently.”

“It sounded mournful,” Anastrasya said. “But very gripping.”

Escher laughed. “Mournful? Well, it’s a bit of a love song.”

Anastrasya nodded, the rubies in her hair glittering in fire light. They were shaped like little tear drops. “True love songs are mournful, I think. I’ve never heard one that isn’t.”

Escher hesitated. “Admittedly, I can’t tell if that is a good thing,” he said. His song was slow, but it was in a major key. He’d not intended for mournful. 

“It is,” Ana said, patted his arm. “Love entails mourning. You’ve done it right--he will like it.”

Escher blinked. “Truly?”

“Oh, but of course. He sees something in your songs. I think he’d like to keep you.”

Escher paused at that. Considered Anastrasya’s look. Dolled up and pretty, but sharp. Her eyes were old and smart. So many stories of consorts never coming back. She easily could have been one of them.

“Keep me?” 

Anastrasya’s red smile did not falter. “Mm, yes.” She chuckled a little to herself, like it was a joke.

Escher didn’t know too much about vampires. What he did know was apocryphal, fables and stories whispered during sleepovers at night. There’d been ominous stories of them told since childhood. Rumors about Strahd’s ability to suck the humanity from one’s very veins, turn men into his ilk. Be good, or Strahd might get you. 

“You were human once?”

“Yes,” Anastrasya said. “It’s funny, isn’t it? Lord Strahd freed me of that malady.” 

Did Strahd want to do the same to Escher? The idea wasn’t exactly the most pleasant. Not after years and years of warnings about vampires, their evil appetite, their abandonment of the good warmth of life. 

“I see,” Escher said simply. He didn’t have any plan to air his grievances to another of Strahd’s lovers. The word another lit a twang of jealousy, but Escher snuffed it down. If nothing else was clear, his place at the bottom of Ravenloft’s hierarchy was.

The rest of their journey toward Strahd’s study was filled with idle chatter between the two of them. Still, nothing could distract Escher away from the thought that’d been raised. That daunting idea of being turned rattled around in his head, over and over. Could he embrace vampirism? Become something new over the ashes of who he was now? Or would he always be too scared? 

Anastrasya paused at the entrance to the study, a blur of red in the dark of Ravenloft. “Enjoy yourself,” she said with a wink. Escher couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “Don’t look so dour.”

He offered a polite smile. “Thank you,” he said, and she was gone. 

Strahd was reading when Escher entered the chamber. He only looked away from his book once Escher had come in and taken a seat across from him. As always, the fireplace was roaring with orange flame, sending dancing shadows across a room that already had plenty. 

“Escher,” Strahd said. “Welcome.”

“My lord,” said Escher. “It is very nice to see you. I’ve been making decent progress--,”

Strahd tutted, raised a hand. He was wearing a small smile. “Ah, that is not why I’ve summoned you. Another time.”

Escher tilted his head, curious. “Understood. What is it on your mind?” Based on what Anastrasya had said, Escher had an inkling. 

“I wanted to ask you something,” said Strahd, orange light glittering on the side of his face. “How do you feel about death?”

Despite the conversation earlier, Escher was still surprised by his question. He wasn’t fond of death, feared it, and yet he’d been dancing with it the past moon. Embraced by it, kissed by it, bitten by it.

“Be honest,” Strahd prompted.

Escher pushed his hair back behind his ears. “The thought of it scares me, my lord,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of not being.”

Strahd closed his book, seemed to consider that. His eyes flashed, red and orange and shadowed all at once, as he met Escher’s gaze. “What if it was not the end, but a door to something more?”

Although the fire nearby was warming the space, Escher tensed as a chill pin-prickled down his spine.

“Vampirism?”

“In a word, yes,” Strahd said. “You know what I am. You know well that I am old, that mortality does not weigh upon me as it does most,” he continued, standing. Circling slowly over to stand behind Escher’s chair, where Escher could no longer see him without craning his head. He didn’t. “I like to offer my favorites the same gift.”

“But to accept, one must die?”

Escher stayed still as Strahd’s hand drifted over his throat from behind, came down to settle on his shoulder. “Experience death, and become it.”

Escher’s heart was beating, pounding hard in his chest. The question he’d asked himself at St. Andral’s came back to him.

_Is there really a choice, or just an illusion of one?_

“Life is simple and warm and comfortable, yes, Escher,” Strahd continued. Both of his hands were on Escher’s shoulders now. “But without the burden of being weak, you can seek more for yourself. Not many toe the line between such opposite forces, life and death. Doing so has given me an abundance of the most unconquerable thing of all: time. Time to learn, to study, to work toward being what I was always meant to be.” 

Strahd shifted, leaning down to speak closer to him. 

“There is so much waiting for you, Escher, if only you will accept it.”

He spoke in a flowery kind of language that, rather than make Escher feel comforted, made him feel for the first time that he was a rabbit and Strahd a wolf, except unlike the average case for a rabbit there was nowhere to run to. Strahd’s tone made it clear that the decision was already made, that if Escher refused or tried to bow out it would happen either way. He was only trying to sweeten Escher to the idea now that he’d made the choice for him. 

Escher’s hand came up over Strahd’s, rested there. As always, he felt so cold. “One thing holds me back,” he said. Elena smiled in his head. Elena, with her shawls and silly ideas and gossip. The closest friend he’d ever had. 

Strahd stayed quiet, prompting him to speak. 

“Someone I love very dearly. The gift you offer is generous, yet wouldn’t I have to let her go?” Escher leaned his head against Strahd’s arm. “My little sister, Elena. When nobody else stood by me, she did. I could always count on her laughter and support.”

The thought of her seeing him remade made a virulent disgust curl in him, gooseflesh rise across his arms. Elena was Escher’s sun in a sunless world. If he was turned, he could never know her again. He’d written a letter goodbye, but even then he’d assumed it might be temporary. That he might sneak down from the castle sometimes to say hello to her, his family be damned. Everyone be damned.

He wasn’t sure what Strahd would do with this information. If he even cared at all. But Escher felt obligated to speak it out loud, to remind himself who he was abandoning in falling forward down this path away from the light. The saddest, most depraved part for him was that it hurt less than he thought. Glass shards twisting in his heart were more like wounds already half-healed. It was almost as if, on that night not so long ago when he’d penned the letter, he’d started to accept the loss of Elena. The past weeks he’d been in mourning. Any thought of it being temporary was just a lie to tide him over. 

Escher was a different breed from her. He felt it heavily now, sitting still in the study of the dread lord of Ravenloft. Maybe it’d always been true, just as his parents had said. Maybe he’d been born to fall into the embrace of a devil, far away from home.

Strahd spoke up. “A sacrifice cements it,” he said. “Lose a part of yourself, let something stronger fill in the gap.” He rose, drew his hands away. Stepped toward the fire. “Perhaps you suffer at first, but one day, untouched by mortality and the trifles it entails, you rise with a keener understanding of yourself.”

Trifles? Was that what Strahd thought of relationships with others? Being as old as he was, surely he’d lost people. Escher was a stranger to that pain; Strahd likely was not.

Escher couldn’t stop the question as it spilled forth out of his mouth. “Have you ever lost someone you love?”

Strahd stopped. Looked to Escher with that unreadable expression of his, then turned to gaze up at the portrait before him. The woman there was forever smiling, fire glow reflected in painted hair that already itself seemed wrought of flame.

Ah, Escher thought. All he could do was nod. 

“I understand,” he said. “You know I would not reject your offer.” 

Maybe Escher would have, if it had ever been a fair choice. But it wasn’t, and Escher knew when to play people’s games with them. When to smile and nod rather than dissent. And it wasn’t that the idea of turning entirely repelled him. Vampirism meant all the things Strahd had said, and it meant a spot by Strahd’s side, too. 

“I know,” Strahd said. “You’re very smart.”

A pause. 

“Does it hurt?” Escher asked. 

Strahd seemed to consider that for a moment, finger to his chin. “Not too bad. It’s what comes after that tests you.”

On that note, Escher let the conversation sit. Ravenloft’s tower was alive with his mournful love song that night.

~

Escher awoke and he could not see. Not a flickering light nor a familiar face nor anything at all. It was as if night had vacated the sky and moved into his mind, an endless, disorienting blackness holding him captive. His body felt strange; his entire being did. Thoughts clattered around in his head yet he could hardly grasp them, so sluggish was he. 

Vaguely, he noted a hunger. It wasn’t the typical cravings, but something bone-deep and primal that he couldn’t identify. A new, unpleasant feeling tapping into every one of his senses. He needed food, but the thought of any typical feast disgusted him. 

The stone slab covering him became obvious when his eyes adjusted. On instinct, his hand went up to brush against it. He pushed, using hardly any strength and yet finding he’d become stronger, for the slab shifted and scraped away. 

A hint of light cut through the haziness clouding his mind. Pouring in through the opening he’d made. He was in a crypt, maybe. He couldn’t remember how or why or when. Strahd flashed through his mind, so did fear, strong arms holding him and fingers brushing through his hair, but still he couldn’t place it. His body stiffened further when someone from beyond moved the slab the rest of the way, revealing to Escher a cob-webbed ceiling of sloping stone. 

His eyes flitted over. The image of the world pulsed, shifted around him in a kaleidoscope. Strahd. It was Strahd there, watching him. A backdrop of a woman’s sobs came from some place Escher could not see. 

Strahd grabbed him, firm, bodying him into a sitting position. “You’ve awaken.”

“Have I?” Escher murmured. It all felt like a dream.

A cold hand caressed his cheek. “It is almost done, Escher. Just one more step”

Escher’s head swam, but he managed a nod. Slumped forward to lean against Strahd’s chest. He felt like a stranger in his own body. Like he was commanding a flesh puppet that wasn’t himself, a body that was colder, stronger, smaller than he’d ever been before. 

“You can feel it, can’t you? The hunger. It won’t be like this for long.”

Listening to Strahd’s voice, memories began to trickle back. Of being close to him, of being in his arms with fangs in his neck, vulnerable, trusting, drained to the brink of death. And then Strahd had pulled back, lips red with blood, and offered Escher his own. A kiss of Death, long and intimate. Escher remembered the rich taste of it. A terrible pain had wracked him next and he’d slowly, slowly lost the ability to breathe, choking on air and sputtering and falling to cold ground as Strahd stood above, watching as silent as a stone sentinel. And then the world had gone black, black as Escher cried from the pain and the utter loneliness of it all. 

Escher was dead. He knew this now as he crawled from the crypt, standing upright. He knew this as he let Strahd take his hand and lead him toward those frail sobs. They were coming from a woman huddled in the corner, arms around her knees, head pressed down.

A scent both sickly sweet and rich unlike anything Escher had experienced assailed him. Through the haze, his hunger flared ravenous. On instinct he wanted, needed to lean down and force her head to the side and drain her to nothing. A hint of recognition, piercing through confusion, stopped him just barely.

If he had still been capable of it, Escher’s eyes would have filled with tears. Instead, his hand came up over his mouth. He stumbled back, but Strahd steadied him. 

“No,” he said, and it became a yell. “No!”

Escher slumped back into Strahd’s arms. Otherwise, he would’ve fallen to his knees. Strahd tutted above him. His lover, teacher, betrayer. 

“It hurts,” Strahd said. “I know. This will make you strong, Escher.”

Strahd’s words echoed in his mind. _A sacrifice._

Elena peeked up. Her face was red, stained by tears. There was a gash on her forehead.”Escher,” she sobbed, and relief blossomed across fear as she looked at him. “Help me.”

Escher reached out. Noticed that his fingers were clawed, pulled back. He was trembling, half with fear and pain and half with the mighty force of his hunger. He winced when Strahd pushed him to the floor. Opened his mouth to say something to Elena, but was interrupted by the voice of his master. He’d given himself to him. This was the cost.

“Escher,” Strahd said. “ _Feed._ ”

The command landed in his mind, knocked out all other thought. Put emotion on hold. Sorrow and fear and resistance melted away into the ether as Escher was consumed by a desperate need to fulfill the task handed to him. The beast took hold. Escher was not Escher as he carried out what he was told. But he was. In the immense shadow of Ravenloft, he’d become another creature entirely--but not a different person. 

He came to with blood dripping from his chin. Blood on his hands, his shirt. Sin that could never be washed away. Elena was still. In his numbness, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Immense strength flowed through him, even as he felt weak enough to collapse to nothing.

Escher stayed weeping in that crypt for days.

~

Sometime later, Escher the vampire sat in his tower reading a letter from many moons ago. Fire popped and crackled in a small brazier before him as he did.

_Dearest Escher,_

_I hope that my letter finds you well. I miss you dearly, here in this home. I miss our jests at dinner, I miss coming to your room at night for gossip, I miss your misguided attempts at fashion advice._

_I know you must be hurting. I do not know if it will soothe you in any way, but I wanted to tell you that I don’t believe anything mother or father say about you. Throughout the years, you have been nothing but good. They have their grievances, but those grievances will stay theirs and theirs alone._

_You are my closest friend. I do hope that despite the family situation, we can still write letters and talk. Perhaps it is selfish, but when have I not been?_

_Do write me back if you find it in you._

_All of the love in the world,  
Your favorite,_

_Elena_

Gently, Escher set the letter at the edge of the brazier. Flames caught on the paper quick, licking up the side. Turning aged white into black and then into soot. Escher only sat there, watching it burn as the cold winds of Barovia whispered tragedies to him from the world beyond.

~ Fin


End file.
